Where The Story Ends
by LittleSouthOfSanity
Summary: It was 1950 and Arthur Kirkland was, though he hated to admit it, lonely. Because of this he finds himself caught up in an adventure that will send him through time, changing himself and the people he meets. He would give anything to figure out where this story ends, and to figure out what happens to the people in it, but that's hard when you're a character yourself. (FACE Family)
1. Chapter 1

Arthur Kirkland had everything he'd ever thought he'd want. His house was big, an old mansion that he had bought off of his father. His bank was full to the brim with notes from the business he ran. Growing up in the mid 1950's, this was no easy feat, with the stock market plunging in as many cities around the world. His small publishing company had become worldwide though, with him at the head.

How could somebody be lonely, he had reasoned, with all this around him or her? How could he be lonely when he always had a good book by his side and a smiling neighbor to the other side of him; though they always failed to come over for tea when he requested it? This never really bothered him much though, because all he had ever known in his life was distance.

His family hadn't been close, his brothers bickering so much that the moment they turned into legal adults, they had high tailed it out of their hometown of London. Each starting their businesses, and becoming something of a phenomenon in the business world. Some blamed this on the weirdness of the family in general; or as others had called it, the use of witchcraft.

Arthur hadn't been any different, being the youngest and the most troubled of them all. He was a strict man, with a firm hand and firm green eye that never left anything for leftovers. His first impressions were lasting ones, because they never changed. His demeanor was set so that he scared many people away without ever really meaning to. Not to mention, he was highly prejudice over French people… but that would come later.

So, one afternoon, at the market; he had overheard them talking. Friends? Maybe they weren't, acquaintances at the most. It did not leave any goodness in the fact they were talking about the young businessman; having not known the choppy blonde haired man was right by them.

"No friends." The group had whispered, "No friends or relatives to visit." Another agreed, "Even I can't stand to be around him." The third reasoned, "He's always asking us over for tea, and I went once. We talked about business and then he pretty much kicked me out. He doesn't even smile."

Arthur looked down, at the apples he had been examining before. He ran his thumb across the glossy surface, nibbling on his bottom lip.

"Rude." He whispered, more to himself than anybody else. He would lie to anybody who asked why his eyes were just a tad wet.

"What do you think will finally get him to move? I understand he's a business tycoon, but that doesn't mean he has to be a lonely asshole." This last sentence was hushed with laughter afterwards.

Arthur nibbles harder on his bottom lip, locking it into place so that it wouldn't tremble. Only children cry, he reminded himself.

It was only after that he left the market, sat his groceries on the table and sat down, did he realize he really was alone.

His house was huge, but it was filled with an eerie silence instead of the padding of feet from children, and the calling of supper being done by a wife.

His thoughts overtook him, and before he knew it the window across from him had darkened by the earth swallowing the sun.

He made a rash decision; letting his thoughts guide him. He brought his hand over to the table sitting beside the armchair, resting it on the phone, before he quickly drew it up to press it against his ear. His fingers flew over the rotary dial, pushing numbers on it as he went.

The line went through, as he stapled his fingers on the arm of his chair. He hadn't called his father in years, probably five or six.

"Kirkland Residence." A gruff voice grumbled, and Arthur had to hold back a smile. When he was little he knew his father was working on paper, because his voice would get oddly grumbled. Any other time it was airy and quiet, kind of like the man himself.

"Father, it's me, Arthur." Honestly he wasn't sure what to say. How do you talk to the man you had forgotten about for the last half a decade?  
A silence was heard through the line, other than the buzzing that told him his father was breathing into the mouthpiece.

"Artie, what do you want? I haven't heard from any of you in ages." There it was, that gentle voice. At least Arthur knew he had the mans utter attention.

"I was wondering…" Arthur trailed off, picking at his armrest once again, "How you met mother with all your work?"

Another gust of static swept through the phone, and Arthur almost pulled it back from his ear in irritation.

"Why?" His fathers grumbled voice was back, though he could not hear the rustling of paper in the background the young blonde knew it would be there.

"I'm just wondering…" Arthur trailed off, huffing softly. His father didn't know he was down in the dumps from earlier this day, because of a few gossiping girls at the market.

"Arthur I've got a lot of work to do. Go lay down and call me when you have a clearer head."

"Wait!" Arthur gasped out, through the phone, "Please? I'll do something for you… You told me a while back you wanted a family reunion? I'll get a hold of Scott and everybody and ask them… I just need this bit of advice, then I'll leave you alone." Arthur's words gushed out, faster than he anticipated.

Another silence was held out through the phone, before a soft whisper of, "I can't tell you."

This time the silence was all Arthur's own.

"You can't tell me because you don't want to tell me, or you can't tell me because you honestly aren't sure how you met her? Because only the first option seems pliable."

"I can't tell you, because I'm not allowed to tell you." His father sounded exasperated now.

Arthur's eyes twitched, oh how he wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the man who had raised him.

"If you're worried I'll tell me idiotic brothers, then you should be happy to know I talk to them less than I talk to you."

"Why in the world would that make me happy?" There was another long held silence, which Arthur very much wanted to break, "There is no way I can tell you… but I can let you see for your own eyes."

Arthur paused, his fingers faltering on the armchair, "What, going to build a time machine?" He teased, his patience dwindling down.

Arthur father let out a laugh, "If that's how you want to think of it, then you think of it that way."

Arthur rubbed at his head, taking a deep breath," Father have you been drinking again? You know I'm outside of London now, I can't come get you from bars!"

"Every time I tell you an honest answer, you accuse me of drinking! Stop it." That airy voice was again back. It made Arthur smile. His father had changed in quit a lot of time.

"Well when you act that way, what am I suppose to think?"

"You are supposed to think what any great son would think…"

"That you're getting a bit senile?"

"Rude."

Arthur let out another laugh, and he crossed his legs, shaking his head. Oh he should contact his father more, it really wasn't that bad when you didn't have to live with the man.

"Look," His father started, and Arthur turned his attention back on him because of the serious tone, "I'll send you something through post, okay? Just flip to page 243, and do everything it says."

Arthur opened his mouth to reply back, but the line went completely blank and he blinked.

"Bye." He whispered, the phone resting back on it's holder with a soft 'clack' that just made the silence in the large house even more deafening.

It took two weeks for the package to arrive from his father, and another week for him to even open it.

He'd never admit to being scared, after all his father would never intentionally send something… dangerous to him.

If his brothers could see him right now they'd call him a baby, and tell him he needed to get his big boy pants on.

This caused a sort of anger to sweep through the British man, and he grabbed a knife from the kitchen, cutting through the box to what was hidden inside. All that rested there was a thick book, the binding falling off and dust coating the pages that his father hadn't been able to brush off.

Arthur's body slumped down into a chair, looking the book over. His father had to be screwing with him. There couldn't be any importance in an old book that looked like it had went through the wash one too many times.

He ran his fingers through his choppy hair, pulling at the strands lightly and closing his bright green eyes.

His eyes slowly opened, glancing at the book, and trying to think of all the paperwork he would be putting off by just looking through the pages.

"Oh bloody hell…" He whispered grabbing the book and placing it gently on the table. He slid his nail under the first few pages, and started to flip through mumbling the page number under his breath as he went.

"220… 230… 240… 243." He paused and looked down at the page in front of him, tilting his head to the side.

"What is this nonsense?" He grumbled, staring down at the words. They weren't exactly foreign to him, his father had taught him how to speak a few words in Latin when he was very young, and this page was full of the scripture. He ran his finger across the first few lines, then his gaze lifted up to a picture on the opposite page.

It was a picture of a small boy, with a wicked grin on his face. He was dressed in all black, except for a collar around his neck that had blue circling it. His hair was chopped almost like Arthur's except a darker shade of blonde, and his eyes a deep set blue. To be honest, it freaked Arthur out just a bit. He didn't 't look natural, his face a bit too pale and his expression full of shadows.

Arthur flipped the book over, careful to keep his page, looking for a note or something from his father. What was he supposed to accomplish with this? Perhaps his father had sent him the wrong book, which was very possible.

"Oh lord…" Arthur mumbled, not caring in the bit that he was talking to himself.

He glanced over at the words again, mouthing them slightly. They were easy Latin, almost easier than he had learned when he was little.

Because he wasn't exactly fluent in it, he spoke the words aloud, sounding some out until the sentence fit. He then went through and read though whole passage aloud, a triumphant smile on his face. He still had it! He could still read Latin despite the years passing by.

"That expression look weird with such heavy eyebrows. You look like an idiot." A voice called out from behind him and he let out a very girlish scream. His natural instincts made him lift the book up into the air and he launched at behind him, at the dark figure standing in the doorway.

"Ow! Son of a bitch, careful with that!" That same voice called out, this time a bit angry.

Arthur stood there, panting for a bit. "Get the hell out of my house!"

"Your house? Technically, didn't your father buy this house for you first?"

Arthur shut his mouth after that, his eyes narrowing. He didn't even want to know how this man knew this. He couldn't even see him properly, because the bastard was being hidden by the shadows dancing across the wall from the candle in front of him.

"Come out of there you sodding coward!" Arthur snapped, holding his hand into a fist. He wasn't exactly good at fighting, but he be damned if he was going to let some guy in his home just this casually.

"Why? You already know what I look like. You are the one who called for me, are you not?" Arthur couldn't help but find that amused voice infuriating.

"I sent for nobody! Get out of my house, thief!" Arthur took a step forward, his hand held up and his eyes narrowed. His whole stance spoke of danger, and yet all the man in the shadows did was let out a loud laugh.

"Oh this is even more fun than when I had your father here!" The man called out, and then danced forward, a black cloak sweeping past his legs until he was in the light.

Arthur's whole body went taught, as he gazed at the same boy whose picture was in the book opposite of the words that had just spilled from his lips. He was much more dark in real life, his eyes a brighter blue than was natural, matching the shade of the collar around his neck.

"W-Who are you?" Arthur whispered, stepping back instead of forward this time. Footsteps followed him, until Arthur was backed up completely against the wall, with the man in front of him.

"I am the knight in shining armor, the darkness to the sun, the Cheshire cat to some and Alice to others," The boy twirled slightly, the black cloak rubbing against Arthur's expensive suits pants, "I am a time-weaver, fortune-teller, and wish-granter."

Arthur's back pressed up against the wall, and his breath came in strangled gasps. Either this boy was insane, which was the most possible solution, or he had just somehow summoned a demon into his household.

"Y-You're insane… Get… Get out of my house…" Arthur squeaked out, reaching out to push the man away. His fingertips brushed against warmth, before his hand went through the man entirely.

"I hate it when people do that, feels weird." The boy grumbled, looking down. He straightened his cloak smirking, "Anyways… In other words… I can do three things for you, one of which is what you asked for, one is what you will want in time, and one is something that I will do to prove the second."

Arthur rubbed his forehead. He was not good with riddles, and he wasn't even sure if this even counted as a riddle; rather gibberish instead.

"Speak clearly, you idiot!" He snapped, licking his lips. Maybe it was not the wisest thing to snap at the demons that take the time to appear in your home. Luckily for him though, the demon he had summoned he deemed insane; for all he did was let out another laugh.

The blue eyed boy in front of him let out a hum, looking at Arthur's eyes with speculation. "You are lonely. That is why you called me, that is why everybody calls me. That is why your father called me, and that is why your grandfather called me."

Arthur shook his head, reaching up and letting his fingertips pressing against his own lips, "I did not call you."

"You spoke the words out of the book, so you called me… I can only come if somebody wants change. Otherwise I dismiss it, and live my own life."

Arthur looked down. He wanted change, he didn't want to be lonely again… but he certainly did not think this would happen.

"My father called you?" He spoke quietly, his eyes still down.

The other one nodded, "Of course! Only the loneliest of people call me, Peter the Great!"

Arthur raised his head, looking over at Peter now, "What do I have to do to be less lonely then?"

Peter tapped his chin, turning another circle. He skipped to the side, seeming to look at Arthur's shoulder, and then he did the same to the other.

"You let me take care of that. You needn't do anything, except in the end I will give you one wish. I want you to make one wish now, and then when I have done what I need to do, you can change it."

Arthur frowned, "What do I wish for?"

"I can't answer that for you. What is the most important thing to you are the moment?"

Arthur looked down, pulling at the collar of his jacket, "I want my brothers to be scared of the largest business in the world, which would be mine."

"Then, if that is what you want when this is all over, I will grant you it."

Arthur pursed his lips, "So you're a glorified genie?"  
This caught Peter's attention, his eyes glowing bright for a moment; his face clearing of all color, "I told you what I am, and I am not a fucking genie."

Arthur had the urge to step back again, but his back was still flush with the wall, "I-I apologize for rising to assumptions…"

"Genies give you three gifts, I give you one. They give you material things; I give you long lasting things. They let you decide first off the bat what you want… I tweak you a bit first."

"Tweak?" Arthur whispered. He wasn't sure he wanted 'tweaked'.

"Of course!" The jubilant boy who had first appeared was back, giving another twirl, this time grabbing Arthur's hands and swinging him around with him, "You are like this for a reason, but fate and time shall give you what you want!"

"T-Time?" Arthur stumbled a bit, bumping into the corner of the table. He winced and tried to pull his hands away from Peter.

"Time…" Peter hummed softly, "Time is a funny thing. You know Time never really stops? It just matters what stream you look in though they all fall into the same destination if nothing interferes. But that's your job! If you want to, of course."

Arthur huffed and finally pulled at least one of his hands free from Peter, trying to stop the room from spinning, "I-I don't think it's very wise to mess with time. Perhaps we should leave it alone?"

Peter paused, his footsteps falling silent, and he gazed up at Arthur again.

"I'll make you a deal, the same deal I make with everybody else," Peter gripped Arthur's hand tighter, making the British man wince, "You will see what I have to show you for yourself, and then you will make your decision."

Arthur peered down at him, and blinked. Okay he was definitely in some type of coma, probably having been wacked in the head by something on his way home from work, or perhaps one of his many stacked books had fallen off a shelf; onto his head.

"What kind of thing will you show me?" Arthur had long ago decided that he was going insane. After all, how many times did a demon appear in ones own home and promise to grant them a wish? He wanted the wish himself, right now, but he could be patient.

"Every night, I will show it to you, until you have seen enough… or you cannot take anymore." Peter said, looking down at Arthur's hand. He flipped it up, running a finger up one of the creases in his skin, "Then you will see exactly what you have to do, and where your heart will lead. Only then, will you be less lonely."

Arthur felt something stir in him. To be less lonely… He would do it then, he would do whatever it was.

"I'll do it. I'll do it then, bloody hell I'll do it!" Arthur threw one hand up in the air, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself. He must be a gentleman, after all.

Peter's expression went happy, gleeful, and excited. He started to twirl again, his black cloak swishing across Arthur's perfectly polished floors.

"Good! Good!" Peter clapped his hands, jumping slightly now, "Then every night I will give you the third thing for you! For you, this time may seem like weeks, to the people here, it will seem like one night."

"Wait!" Arthur gasped out, his eyes widening, "Weeks?!"

"Well I assume so. I'm not sure what time stream fate will pick for you, but we will find out the first time you go. I can't be with you through it all though…" Peters happy expression fell into a pout, "You wouldn't understand as well if I did."

"I can't be gone for… weeks at a time!" Arthur gasped out, taking a step back. Peter narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on Arthur's hand once again, the bones grinding against each other.

"I told you, time streams are weird, keep up!" Peter snapped, "For you it will be one night here, but there it will be many… But you must not be confused. We aren't going back in time, we are merely entering another one that isn't yet caught up to this one."

Arthur rubbed his head, feeling utterly confused on this.

"You cannot change the past in this stream." Peter continued, sensing his companion's confusion, "But you can change that one. You need to keep that in mind, you can change that one. Without an interference, everything that has happened in this time stream will happen in that one."

Arthur's eyes glazed slightly. This, to him, was very much unfathomable. He wasn't going back into a different time stream, the only thing he could hold onto that maybe he was indeed in a coma and he needed to follow this weird guides plans. Perhaps then he would get out of this insanity.

"What time will I leave…?" Arthur mumbled; his eyes till glassy.

"When your clock strikes midnight; the witching hour." Peter said, clasping his hand over Arthur's palm hard.

Peter twirled once again, this time his cloak floating off the floor, and then the blue-eyed boy was gone. He left Arthur standing there, gazing down blankly at his hand, which was now adorned with a clock on his skin, ticking away as if it was every bit as real as the one he wore in his pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur glared down at the clock on his hand, watching the minute hand tick by without a problem. He reached out and ran his finger across the gas like clock, feeling nothing against his finger; but yet every tick of the thing sent a tingle through his body.

"I swear I'll never drink again." He whispered to himself, looking out the window that rested beside his bed. It was late at night; around the same time that Peter had said he would meet the young British man.

"Never, ever again." He breathed out and slid into bed, pulling the covers up over his chin, so that he was warm and comfy. Hell if anybody was going to force him out of bed tonight. This was more of a half-witted thought, for he knew he couldn't stop it if Peter wanted to. That is why his vest was snug against him, and he was still dressed nicely in the suit he had worn earlier that day.

"I thought you couldn't look any more idiotic... but come on! Even you, Mister Gentlemen, must have a pair of pajamas!" A loud voiced boomed from the doorway, and Arthur winced.

"You're not real. I just need to get a hold of this hallucination and stop it... then I can go to the doctors tomorrow to see what is wrong." He whispered, trying not to think that if this really was an hallucination... then it wasn't going to do good for him to talk back to it.

"Oh come on! I thought we had gotten past this already." A soft scuffling across the floor caught Arthur's attention, making him wince.

"Leave my wood floors alone." He grumbled out softly, tugging the blanket up over his head. He felt a sharp tug back and the blanket flew down half his body, making him let out a soft yelp. He reached down and grabbed it again, tugging it back up over his head.

"Awesome! Is this a new game?!" Peter gasped out, and Arthur was about ready to give a snarky remark when the blanket was fully ripped away from his shivering body. Shivering with something that had nothing to do with the cold draft coming from the seal of the window.

"No! Give it back, I'm going to bed!" Arthur gasped, sitting up in bed. He reached out carefully, searching in the darkness for the blanket.

"No you aren't. I don't like it when people break promises, so I don't accept them." Peter said, casually.

A few more scuffles of boots on wooden floor, then the room was filled with light coming from the chandelier on the ceiling. Arthur winced, putting his hand over his eyes, so that they could adjust to the change a bit easier.

"Stupid! You're going to make me blind!" Arthur snapped. Really he didn't care, he did it all the time. He was grasping at the last remaining straws, trying everything in his power to not go to... well wherever the hell Peter might take him. If it was a place at all, or rather another time.

"Nonsense, I know you won't ever go blind in your lifetime," Peter danced forward, his footsteps padding eerily in the silence, "Time Traveler, remember?"

"I bloody well remember." Arthur sighed, sliding out of bed. His bare feet touched down onto the ground, and he slid his feet into his shoes, not even caring that he didn't have socks on at the moment.

"Better that you're dressed already though. We've got about... half a minute, give or take a few seconds." Peter murmured, his eyes glazed over.

Arthur nibbled at his bottom lip, and then brought his gaze back down to the watch on his hand. He tilted his head to the side, frowning at it. If anybody seen this it certainly wouldn't be normal. Actually he wasn't even sure he could blame it on a tattoo at all, because a lot of people didn't even realize what those were at this time, and if the were going back... well people not even realize what that was.

He reached down, grabbing a scarf from around the bedpost. He slid it over his hand, wrapping it up tightly until it looked as if it was merely bandaged, perhaps from a sprained or broken bone.

"Ready! I'd close your mouth if I were you. Wouldn't want something to climb in." Peter chirped, and Arthur let out another yelp, when two hands swept over his head. He shivered, reaching up automatically to remove them.

"Sorry, can't let you do that. You will go blind this time if you do." Peter murmured, his hands clamped tightly over Arthur's eyes. Arthur felt Peters hands shift, until a pair of muffs were placed over Arthur's ears, then they were automatically placed back over his eyes.

The young blonde felt like he was being suffocated, and placed into a soundless room that was filled with nothing but darkness. He felt rushing air from around him, and yet his feet never left the wooden flooring beneath him. He shivered, clenching his mouth shut, trying to remember the boys last wish for him to do. He didn't exactly know what kinds of things lived in the 'time-stream' but hell if he was going to let one crawl into his mouth. There was a hard sucking sensation, sweeping up throughout his body, and a tugging at his clothes from unseen and unheard evils.

Arthur reached out, his hands placing against Peter's chest softly, feeling the odd boys heartbeat steady against his fingertips, rooting him to reality.

It was over just as soon as it begun. The sucking sensation left him wobbly on his feet, when Arthur finally let go of Peters cloak. He hadn't even realized he had been clenching at it so tightly.

"Not so bad, yeah? Better than last time... I thought they were going to eat your father in their excitement." Peter mouthed to Arthur, reaching up and finally pulling out the muffs from his head. Sound rushed back to Arthur, once again making his knees wobbly from the sudden change.

"W-Who... Who tried to.. eat my father." Arthur let out a throaty sigh, his words gruff from fear.

Peter paused, pursing his lips up at Arthur, "My friends."

"You've got odd friends." Arthur grumbled, rubbing at his ears where the muffs at left marks, "Was this really necessary?!"

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil." Was Peters only reply, placing the muffs carefully back into his cloak.

"Oh." Arthur breathed, feeling no other response willing to come out of his lips. He reasoned that he didn't really want to know how the bloody handprint that appeared on his shoe had gotten there. Peter's friends didn't seem very friendly.

"Good response. With how much time you spend reading, you'd think you could come up with a better reply than that." Peter grumbled, grabbing Arthur's wrist, and tugged him forward.

For the first time since he had opened his eyes to their destination, he finally took in his surroundings, being mildly surprised. It was most definitely his house, maybe a bit less rickety and a lot dustier. The room he stood in was empty, without a trace of having just held a bed with an English man and a demon fighting over the covers.

"Well at least we know we haven't gone back too far..."

"How far were we supposed to go back?" Arthur questioned, looking around him as they walked through the halls of his once him, or would be in the future. It was all horribly bare, and slightly creepy now that the place didn't have a light on in it. Obviously abandoned, by whom Arthur wasn't too keen on finding out.

"Not sure. I don't get to make that choice, my friends do. I'm jut the chauffeur of course." Peter giggled softly, slipping through the front door, and pulling Arthur around behind him.

"What? Well then how do you know we are in the right place?!" Arthur felt panic rise up in his throat. He wasn't sure whether he could do this or not.

"Well we aren't dead yet, so I assume we are in the right place." Peter chimed, happily. The small demon loved the past, and loved the way he could visit it, "If we stepped into the wrong time-steam, we'd have either gone to the beginning of time, or our skin would have been melted off from the apocalypse."

Arthur huffed. He wasn't even getting straight answers back, how was he supposed to understand this? He couldn't think of a way to understand even when they were, though they knew where. He never thought he'd have to go through that. He'd always known what day it was, he'd never been lost in the creases of time streams before; never before dreamed of such a feat.

"I don't even want to know what you are talking about with the apocalypse." Arthur sighed, running his fingers through his short locks and trying to get Peter to let go of his arm.

"Oops; said too much." Peter mumbled, shifting past a person, and going toward a man holding an armful of newspapers. The young boy reached up and snagged one without anybody noticing, flipping it over and sliding his finger across the headline, before he froze.

"What? What's wrong?" Arthur questioned, panic rising up again. He felt his hands start to shake and he glanced around. Perhaps their skin was about to burn off...

"Oh... I didn't know we were... going here." Peter mumbled, nibbling at his bottom lip, "This one upsets me a bit."

Arthur frowned back at him; so far he hadn't seen anything upset the young demon. He reached out and tilted the paper down, so that he could read the date... his eyes grew huge.

"You brought us back to 1915? We are about thirty-five years in the past!" Arthur gushed, grabbing the paper from the others hands.

"That I did... you're lucky. The last person I sent back, we went to the Egyptian time. That was lots of fun." Peter's mood abruptly changed once again, this time thoughtful.

Arthur abruptly shook his head, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself. He was either going to punch Peter in the face, or faint. He still hadn't decided which to act upon yet.

"Now I know what you're probably thinking..." Peter trailed off, glancing down at Arthur's clenched fist, "But now is not the time to get feisty."

"I'm not feisty... I'm bloody mad!" Arthur snapped, making Peter smirk.

"Well... I'll leave you to that then." Peter snickered and turned around, heading back towards the building that they had just left.

"Oh hell no! You are not leaving me here, you git!" Arthur snapped, making several people on the dirt walk they were on look at him in curiosity.

"I told you once, and I'll tell you again, I can't be with you on your adventure!" Peter grumbled, still walking in the next direction, "It would ruin the whole thing... Go to the last house on the left, and make friends with the people there."

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but Peter was gone just as quickly as he had come that first night. He stood there, watching the place where his young companion had been standing, before a man knocked into him, grunting a foul word at him for him to get a move on.

He turned on his heel, staring down the street where he had been told to walk, and worried his lip. What else was he to do? He was half wanting to go find a nice inn, where he could sit and wait for Peter to get off of his high horse and come get him... but that would accomplish nothing.

He walked forward almost in a daze, bumping into several people along the way. He felt out of place, especially in how he was dressed. Sure in his time, his suit was extremely nice, almost too nice for this place though. He was getting odd looks, from curious passerby's. One old woman even reached out to stroke his vest, looking up into his green eyes, and then mumbling to herself. Arthur sped past her as fast as he could, turning a corner and going to the last house on the left.

The neighborhood was boosting with activity, the neighbors chatting with each other on the lawn. He sidestepped as many of them as he could, giving polite nods in return to others. One man was even out brushing at his hedges, and when Arthur walked past he almost got a thrown weed in his face, which he was adamantly apologized to for.

By the time he finally reached the last house, he was worse for the wear than any other. It felt like he still hadn't slept, which of course he hadn't.

He stepped up the steps carefully, glad to be where he was going, and knocked on the door. It did not cross his mind that the person living there might find this just a bit odd. Some random stranger, dressed to the 'T' yet covered in dirt and grass, knocking on their door at dusk.

"Yes?" A whimsical voice called out, making Arthur's head snap up, and peering into a very handsome face; enveloped in golden locks of hair and just the hint of a beard along the curve of his jaw.

"I... uh..." Arthur paused, looking down. He wasn't even sure what to say.

"Oh non! A pretty eyed man like you shouldn't look so troubled!" The man gasped, pressing his hands against Arthur's cheeks, making Arthur's mouth pop open in surprised.

"Are you French?" Arthur blurted out, tearing his head away.

"Oh... you are English..." The man grumbled, than his smile brightened even more, "Do not worry! I do not mind large eyebrows... They can be like a beard when at certain activities!" The man then let out a loud (albeit slightly odd) laugh.

"W-What?! How dare you!" Arthur gasped out, narrowing his eyes at the man, "H-How dare you raise conclusions on the things I take part in!"

"So you do take part in them, non?" The man gushed, and then chuckled, "I am only playing with you. I am Francis." Arthur's hand was taken, squeezed, "I assume you are here for the job I sent out to the paper?"

Arthur blinked at him, sucking in a breath. Okay so he had no idea what the man was talking about, and he mostly just wanted to punch the other in the jaw as soon as possible... but he decided against it.

"Yes... Yes of course." Arthur straightened his suit jacket out just a bit.

"Good... I believe I've accidentally scared others away." Francis murmured, this time a small frown appearing on his face.

"Couldn't understand how." Arthur grumbled, making Francis break out into a grin.

"Oh, feisty." Francis retorted back, opening the door wide to the offending English man.

"You know, I've been hearing that a lot lately." Arthur grumbled, carefully stepping inside, and looking down to make sure no dirt was on his shoes. He glanced back up again, holding out his hand, "Arthur Kirkland."

"Francis Bonnefoy." Francis took his hand, giving it a soft squeeze instead of shaking it, before he turned on his heel, motioning Arthur forward, "You're probably wondering their names, though, right?"

"Who?" Arthur blinked

Francis paused, raising an eyebrow, "The children that you're going to babysit?"

Arthur felt his face pale, and his mouth popped open. It was that he didn't like kids... he did; when they were behaving. Most of the times they were wiping some kind of goo on his suits, or grabbing his loved books only to tear the papers apart and break the bindings. To say he wasn't a person who liked children... would be about right.

"Children?" He breathed out, looking up.

"Well yes, that was what the ad said." Francis stepped forward, pulling them both into a small sitting room right off the door. The room was large, and luxurious. Two couches sat across the wall, and the room was layered in rich browns that made the whole place look warm despite the cold that had drafted through from the open door, "Sit; please."

"Thank you..." Arthur perched himself politely on the edge of the cushion, crossing one leg over the other.

"About the children, there are two and they are identical male twins... Don't worry about mixing them up, the neighbors do it all the time." Francis continued, sitting down across from Arthur, "I'd like somebody with experience, so if you have any please tell, but it isn't needed."

Arthur glanced down at his hands. The most experience he had watching kids, was when one ended up lost around his home and he took him in for about five minutes.

"I don't happen to have much experience on this... it was more of a spur of the moment kind of thing." That was an understatement in his opinion.

"That's okay, as long as you halfway get along with children. They shouldn't bother you much, I'll only need you on Wednesday and Saturday nights... unless asked otherwise." Francis tapped his chin, another smile gracing across his face; and this next response was given with a well-placed wink, "But you can come anytime you want."

Arthur sputtered, his cheeks tinging slightly pink, "H-How dare you again..."

Francis chuckled, shaking his head, "Oh I am glad I did not hire that other lady! This is much more fun."

Arthur opened his lips to give off another snarky remark, before he glanced back over Francis shoulder, blinking slowly as a little boy, horribly covered in some white power, tried to sneak past. He couldn't have been older than three or four, with golden locks that were the exact same shade of Francis', just a bit shorter cut.

Francis noticed the odd look on Arthur's face and he twisted around, going absolutely still in his chair as he took in the boy, who was now trailing powder across the floor as he tip toed.

"Alfred, what a lovely costume." Francis called out, making the boy let out a large yelp and jump. He turned wide eyes on Francis, then glanced down at his dirty clothes and skin.

"Matthew got into the flour again!" The boy, who Arthur presumed as Alfred, instantly yelled, probably throwing his twin brother under the bus per say.


	3. Chapter 3

Francis stepped forward, blinking down at Alfred, who was starting to tear up in fear of the repercussion he knew was coming.

"Flour again, mon ami?" Francis mumbled, sighing down at him, "Where is Matthieu?"

"I told you! He's making flour pies, and making it snow from the ceiling again." Alfred said, this time shuffling his feet across the ground. He threw a glance at Arthur, who was standing awkwardly to the side of them all. Alfred eyed him slightly, glancing up at his face every few minutes.

Francis reached down and tried to gently rub away some of the flour on Alfred's cheek, only managing to make it stick to his own hand in turn.

"We should probably go save him then, non?" Francis gave off a soft chuckle, then paused. He had almost forgotten that Arthur was there at all. He turned around abruptly, looking at the English man, "I apologize, Arthur."

Arthur chuckled, waving his hand out, "Don't worry about it."

"First impressions matter the most though, and this is not particularly what I had in mind; as you can see." Francis reached down and dusted gently at Alfred's front jacket, brushing some of the flour off to reveal a light brown leather coat, that was most likely in high fashion and highly expensive at the moment.

Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow, ready to retort back with a gentle word, when Alfred gave a gasp and pointed.

"They do move! I thought they were muffs or something." Alfred gasped out, tugging gently on Francis's pant legs, "Papa, do I get muffs for my eyebrows too?"

Francis looked up, his eyes slightly wide, but filled with amusement he tried not to let the other see. After all, Arthur had always found himself presentable in the least. He wasn't the best looking man, with his small stature and slim waist, but he was by far better looking than half the individuals where he lived. This, coming even from a child, was a rather large hit to the ego.

"Alfred, quiet." Francis murmured, patting Alfred on the back. He leaned down and whispered in Alfred's ear, making the boy pout slightly.

"Someday I'll get muffs for my eyebrows too. I don't care what you say." Alfred grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest in an extremely stubborn stance. Quit unusual for a child so young.

Arthur just pressed a hand over his face, running his fingers across his eyebrows... surely they weren't that large... were they?

"What? I want some too..." Alfred grumbled, crossing his arms slightly over his chest, he glanced over at Arthur again, slight awe in his face.

Well, Arthur thought, at least he isn't making fun of them.

"Maybe you can, someday!" Arthur said, earning a horrified look from Francis, which he very much returned.

"How about we go find your brother, non?" Francis grumbled, reaching down to grab Alfred's hand gently. The young boy swung their hands together, jumping and making more powder flow across the floor with every step that he took. It seemed that Francis wanted the conversation stopped before Alfred insisted upon the eyebrows.

"Okay..." Alfred said, suddenly his face looking just a bit terrified, "But I swear, I didn't have anything to do with it!"

"I'm sure you didn't." Francis chuckled, looking back at Arthur to wink.

Arthur's cheeks just went slightly pink. He hadn't even thought he'd be allowed into the house, let alone be standing here talking to the young child and this other man who, despite how much he didn't want to even think it, was really getting handsomer every moment.

"Didn't!" Alfred called out, turning a quick corner to bring them down a hallway, then Francis reached out, pushing open a door to reveal a room filled with snow.

Well, it was certainly a pure white like snow. Not near as cold, nor as good to make snow angels with.

The whole pantry was covered in flour, from the walls, to the boxes of food that lined the shelf. The biggest pile of it though, was beside a huge bag, that before this happened was probably filled with the powdery substance. At the moment though it rested on it's side by the door.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but Francis quickly put a finger to his lips to shush him. This made the British man a bit mad, but not really. He'd been broken off from speaking so many times in the day it didn't really matter to him anymore.

He tilted his head to the side, listening. Alfred appeared to be doing the same thing, kicking a bit at the flour and making it fly upwards onto his pants once again.

Despite the soft noise, Arthur could distinctly hear a soft humming coming from the flour. Arthur swiveled his eyes over to rest on the bag, where the sound appeared to be coming from.

Then, the bag started to move, making Arthur jump a bit. A soft laugh came from behind him, most likely from the frenchman that had led him in here, but Arthur tried not to let that get to him. He didn't jump because he was scared... just... concerned.

The bag shifted again, the humming breaking off and instead a soft grumble was heard. The bag shifted backwards, and a blonde head poked out, shaking the flour from the boys hair.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, chuckling as Francis took a silent step forward, watching the young boy stand up, in each small hand was a grip of flour.

"Then, Kuma, it snowed!" The boy whispered, throwing the snow up on the wall.

Arthur winced when it stuck there, and Francis shook his head just a bit.

"Did it really? I thought it didn't snow indoors." Francis called out, making the boy freeze. He looked down at the pile of flour again and frowned,

"Shhh Kuma, I know what I'm talking about." He whispered, reaching down to grab a stuffed animal off the floor, that Arthur had missed before. It was also covered with flour, but it blended in well; for the thing was obviously a little bear, with black buttons for eyes.

"Nuh uh!" Alfred called out, done with being patient. He wanted something to happen, not just watch his brother. If he had his way he'd be playing with the flour too... but he knew his papa would get mad if he did that.

"Alfie?" The boy squeaked, jumping, looking up at the people watching him. Underneath the flour, his cheeks swept up into a dark red blush.

"Mattie you've got flour in your hair." Alfred immediately called out, puffing out his cheeks.

Arthur wanted to tell them that he had flour everywhere, but he didn't think that was polite to scold a child for a simple remark.

"O-Oh." Matthew gasped out, reaching up and pushing a curly piece of hair away from his face. It dangled limply behind his head, stuck together from the flour. Arthur assumed, from first glance, that it was probably more like Francis's then Alfred's was. It seemed curly, almost exactly like Alfred's except perhaps a bit longer.

"Matthieu." Francis called out, once again. This time Matthew's eyes shifted over to Francis's, his blue eyes going extremely wide. They then shifted over to Arthur, his eyes going even wider.

"Y-Yes... Papa?" Matthew whispered, glancing around. Suddenly he thrust the small bear up over his face, making it look like it was attached to his head.

Alfred skipped forward, kicking up more flour. Arthur swatted it away from his face, coughing slightly. Alfred didn't seem to notice, instead he just skipped up to Mattie and poked his bear in the nose.

Francis sighed, glancing around the room, taking in the flour that littered the place.

"Matthew, Alfred, can you tell me what I have said about playing in the flour?" Francis called out. His voice did not waver in gentleness though, which Arthur gave him credit for. By this time Arthur would have been ripping out his hair in anger if he was in Francis's shoes.

"Not to play with it!" Alfred said, a happy smile on his face. It slowly fell off though suddenly, looking down, "Oh... right."

Matthew peeked out from behind his small stuffed bear, looking up at Francis. He nibbled on his bottom lip, before he one of his little hands gripped the stuffed bears paw. He waved it around anxiously.

"Kuma wanted it to snow though, because you said that polar bears... well polar bears play in the snow! Like me!" Matthew reasoned, his wide eyes glancing at Alfred every once in a while. Probably looking for agreement from his twin.

"Yea! I was worried that Kuma and Matthew would get lost in the snow though, so the hero had to come and save them!" Alfred spoke his own part, holding his arms up.

"I'm glad that Alfred looks after Kuma and Matthew," Francis said, crouching down in front of the pair. He swept a bit of flour off of each's cheeks, "But this is not snow. This is papa's flour."

Matthew pouted softly, looking over at Alfred, then glancing away.

"Oh." They both mumbled together, making Arthur smile slightly. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he originally thought it would be. The two were a bit adorable, though Alfred seemed a bit like a trouble maker... and Matthew just seemed shy.

"Yes, oh." Francis teased, winking at them both, "So what are you going to do the next time that Kuma wants to play in the snow?"

"Play in the sugar instead?" Alfred pipped up, looking up with a completely serious expression.

Francis raised an eyebrow, "Non, no sugar either. How about you come get me and we can draw snowflakes, okay?"  
Matthew glanced over at Arthur suddenly, watching him with big eyes, then slowly stepping backwards. He bumped into Alfred, holding Kuma against his chest with one arm and then grabbing Alfred's hand with his other.

"Well I guess that could work... as long as we can hold them up like we did with the stars." Alfred continued, not seeming to notice his twins distress over the sudden newcomer.

Arthur watched Matthew, raising another large eyebrow as the young child glanced away immediately, from his scrutinizing gaze.

Francis though, was not as unseeing with this event as Alfred was. He followed Matthews train of sight, landing on Arthur's face. For once, since Arthur had come knocking on the door, he seen Francis blush ever so slightly.

"Oh! I'm sorry, distractions." Francis stood up immediately. He put his hands gently on his sons backs. Alfred stood tall, looking up at Arthur. Matthew shivered and slid against Francis' leg, trying to hid behind it a bit.

The twins may look identical, easy to switch up; but their personalities were completely different. While Alfred was out going and brave, Matthew was shy and quiet.

"This flour covered boy is my Matthew." Francis ruffled Matthews flour covered hair gently, giving off a soft smile. He turned then to Alfred, putting his other hand on Alfred's head, "You've already met Alfred."

"Hello sir eyebrow muffs!" Alfred said happily, waving enthusiastically.

Arthur's cheeks went a bit red and he huffed, reaching up automatically to touch his eyebrows.

"H-Hello Sir Eyebrows." Matthew mumbled, glancing up at Arthur.

If Arthur's cheeks were already red, now they are scarlet and warm. His whole face felt like it was on fire. Francis's laugh only made it worse.

"Arthur will do." Arthur mumbled, glancing around at Francis. He was a tad confused, why he would take such time to even introduce him to the children.

"If he's willing to take the job, he's going to be your new sitter." Francis said, looking up at Arthur. Alfred's mouth popped open and Matthew looked up at him, surprised.

"Cool." Arthur heard Alfred breath out, and Arthur was just a tad bit worried about his eyebrows making it through this. He remembered distinctly when he was in college and somebody tried to shave his eyebrows off for him... and he wouldn't put it past Alfred to do the same thing, if he came across scissors.

Arthur glanced down at his shoes, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing. He slid his feet forward, then reached out, holding his hand out to Francis. The french man was infuriating, and he wanted to punch him already... but he would take Peters heed, and get to know this strange family.

Francis took his hand, shaking it warmly.

"Sir, this Arthur Kirkland would be happy to take the job." Arthur said, giving the french a slightly wavering smile.

Francis nodded, letting go of his hand, and resting his own on his boys heads once again, "Ah! Splendid, I'll tell you certain dates needed to watch the boys, but so far I have already said what days... you'll have to stay the night, I'm afraid, but I have a guest room available for you. We can go over any other details on Wednesday yes?"

Arthur blinked, getting the odd feeling that Francis's wanted him to leave. He wasn't sure why, and he found it just a bit rude. His hands clenched into fists. He'd just agreed to watch the mans kids, couldn't he at least be a bit respectful?

"I'm so sorry for having you out so fast, but I have to give a couple of little boys a much needed bath." Francis continued, and Arthur relaxed just a bit. At this, the kids both looked up at Francis with frowns on their faces.

"Who's getting a bath, papa?" Matthew wondered, holding tighter onto Kuma, Alfred looking up in the same curious expression.

Francis raised an eyebrow down at the two, "The only two little boys who live in this house."

Matthew huffed, looking away. Alfred did the exact same thing, that same stubborn stance from before. For once, Arthur really couldn't tell the two apart.

"Should I lead you out?" Francis asked, speaking once again to Arthur. He reached down and put his arms around both of his children's waists, lifting them up easily into the air. They rested against his sides, one twin scrunching his face up at the other, and making him giggle.

"No, I think I can find the way. I'll be here Wednesday morning then..." Arthur bowed, as was custom where he was from. He turned on his heel, his suit coat fluttering behind him, and he walked out of the house.


	4. Chapter 4

Living in the past was a hell of a lot harder than Arthur thought it would be. The only telephone he found was one you had to pick up two separate parts, then call; that hadn't ended well. Not that he hadn't tried; and he felt bad for the poor old lady he'd scared to death by calling suddenly.

He just had that effect on people though. Scaring them, and for him, nothing scared him more than the thought of looking after two small children that he barely knew.

Kids were okay… as long as they were quiet. Quiet while he read, and quiet while they ate. Not dribbling things down their chins; or covered in flour for that matter. His temper was as short as a match. No matter how it was sparked, it would eventually burn the tips of your fingers.

Kirkland's weren't patient and Arthur was a good example of that.

His heart was racing by the time he had stood in front of the mirror he found in the house… well his house in the future, straightening out his tie. He pushed the knot clear up to his throat, swallowing thickly. It seemed as if his saliva glands had stopped working about five minutes ago.

"What I wouldn't give for a shot of scotch." He grumbled, and pulled open a drawer to the counter he had been leaning over, staring down into the dusty nothingness.

"Of course, who the hell keeps a bottle of scotch in their bathroom drawer?" he sighed, slamming the drawer shut, and coughing a bit in the dust that bloomed up after he did.

_Wonderful._

He was not having a good morning. The old clothes he'd found in the attic were clean, albeit a bit dusty, but they weren't the right size. The coat made him look even slimmer than he was, shrouding his figure in its own cloth.

That and the scarf he had wrapped around his hand didn't match the suit at all; mostly because it was bright yellow. He should've picked a white one; it would have been easier to pass off as gauze from a medical wound.

His shoulders slumped, his eyes going a bit dark, when he pulled his shoes onto his sockless feet. He really should've thought through that problem before he had left his own time.

That thought brought him up short and made his head hurt. His own time… _right_.

"What the hell am I even doing…?" He mumbled to himself, sliding his fingers through his hair, and pulling at the choppy ends. The strands brushed against his fingers, and one even tangled around his thumb, making him wince in pain when he pulled his hands away; and the strand was ripped from his head.

His fingers traced the bloody handprint on his shoe, and he brought his thumb up, licking it, then leaning back down and trying to rub the blood off of his shoe. His nail caught on the leather, putting a very small cut on it. The business tycoon winced at that. Those were his good pair of shoes.

By the time the English man finally made his way down the street, he'd attempted to tame down his unruly hair again, making it stick up even more. One small strand stuck straight out the side of his head even, without his knowledge of course.

"Mr. Bonnefoy?" He called, knocking on the door for the second time in the last week, and probably not for the last.

There was a scuffle, and a soft curse, then a voice calling out, "One moment!"

Arthur paused, staring at the door with a raised eyebrow, then tilting his head down and lifting up a piece of the scarf, gazing down at the watch imbedded onto his skin.

Hell, he thought, if it was there he might as well use it.

"You said come around three, didn't you?" Arthur called to the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Oui!" Francis called out, and another small curse broke through the silence that followed after.

Arthur blinked at the door, glancing around behind him at the street; making sure others were in sight in case the mad man behind the door became violent when he opened it. After all, you don't just trust somebody that easily.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Arthur's heels actually left the brick under him when the door suddenly swung open, Francis standing in the doorway dressed in black slacks, black shiny shoes, and a white chef's coat.

"Sorry, I can't find my name-tag. I left it here and now it's gone…" The Frenchman muttered, turning on the spot and motioning toward a small table beside the couch Arthur had his 'interview' on.

Arthur slowly slid to the left and gazed at the table, and then shifted his head down, glancing at the floor from where he was standing outside the doorway.

"You lost it." Arthur said, and had to hold back a smirk.

Frenchman.

"Yes, thank you for pointing that out." Francis said, letting out a small sigh, and stepping to the side. Letting the gentleman through the door.

"Thought I'd point out the obvious." Arthur remarked back, and then bit down on his lower lip.

Perhaps bad-mouthing your employer wasn't the best idea. Especially when said employer was in a bad mood. Francis gazed evenly at Arthur for a few moments his anxious eyes softening and then warmth spreading throughout his expression. He tilted his head back, so he could let out a loud laugh, running his fingers through his hair.

Arthur's mouth popped open in shock, "What the bloody hell?!"

"Sorry!" Francis gasped, and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, "I'm sorry; it's just you're so mad and you look like a tree."

Arthur didn't move a muscle, not even closing his mouth. His breath blew out in one long gust and he reached out, bumping his hand up against the French mans head, "I'm not a tree!"

"Tell that to your hair!" Francis gasped, looking up and laughing even harder at the pieces sticking up in random directions.

Arthur let out a huff, and crossed his arms over his chest, turning around on his heel. He stepped towards the door, his shoulders hunched and small curses coming out of his lips with every step he took.

"I was wrong, I made a mistake, and this isn't going to work." He snapped, reaching up to try to smooth down the strands.

"Oh, come on!" Francis said, his eyes still bright, and laughter still strong on his face. "I was joking, and I'm sure my kids who aren't even old enough to figure out socks don't go on their fingers, won't mind it!"

Arthur paused, his foot halfway out the doorway. He glanced behind him, then at the emptying sidewalk as dusk settled in. Not that the other needed to know, but he didn't exactly have anything else to do so he wasn't going to leave. But hey, he needed some leverage here and this was perfect.

"Fine, don't make fun of my hair, frog." Arthur grumbled, turning around. He stomped back in the house, kicking off his loafers quickly onto the rug.

Francis nodded at him, reaching up and running his fingers down the front of his jacket, his nails nicking the buttons as he went. Making sure they were all in order.

"The kids are already in their pajamas, and I've given them a bath so that shouldn't be an issue. I didn't have time to cook them anything, but there is plenty of ingredients in the fridge to make; and I have a whole closet full of recipe books." Francis rambled off, lacing up his shoes tightly, "Matthew won't sleep without his bear, so don't try to do that, and Alfred won't sleep unless the windows are closed so he can't see any shadows from the trees, they scare him."

Arthur nodded slowly, trying to remember as much of this as he could. Food, bear, curtains. Yea he could do this.

"If there's anything wrong you can get hold of me at the restaurant down the way." Francis said, stepping out the door and reaching out, his hand for the other to shake, "I'll be back around dawn…"

Arthur reached out automatically, taking the offered hand, and shaking it with a tight grip.

"Oh, and Arthur?" Francis turned on his heel, heading down the sidewalk quickly, "You watch after my children, and please keep them safe. I love them both with all my heart."

Arthur blinked at the disappearing back of the blonde, then glanced up at the orange sky that had settled on the street. The houses stood out from the sky's blaze.

"Red sky at night, sailors delight, red sky at morning, sailors take warning." Arthur recited softly, shutting the door with a soft click.

"What?" A small voice screamed, and Arthur let out a slightly girlish yell, jumping back against the door to meet two bright blue eyes.

"What?" Arthur questioned back, trying to figure out which one of the kids this was.

"Who?" The boy chanted, jumping up and down.

"What?" Arthur said slowly, shaking his head.

"Who, what, when, where, how!" The blue-eyed little devil called out, holding his arms up and pouting, "What did that mean?"

Arthur clenched his eyes closed for a moment at the screaming, shaking his head. This had to be Alfred, there's no way this screaming child could be Matthew. Too much of this and Arthur's headache was going to get a hell of a lot worse. That was not something he was necessarily looking towards.

"My dad taught it to me," Arthur started, reaching down and pulling the boy up so that he rested against his side; like he'd seen Francis do, "It means when the sky is red at night, it's going to be nice out tomorrow morning. When it's red in the morning instead, it's going to storm."

"So it's going to be nice out, tomorrow?" Alfred questioned, his fingers clenching onto Arthur's jacket, "Does that mean we can play outside?"

"I'm only here for tonight, so far." Arthur mumbled, trekking through the house. He glanced at Alfred, then pushed open a door. He glanced in, hoping to see a stove and pots and pans. Instead he was staring into coats and little rain boots, with red and blue gloves stuck in them.

"Are you lost in the closet?" Alfred asked slowly, glancing up at Arthur with innocent eyes.

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head, "Of course not! I'm just… making sure everything is in order in here… you wouldn't mind appointing me to the kitchen, would you, young sir?"

Alfred stared at the other slowly, "What?"

Arthur blinked, both of their expressions highly confused.

"Ap… appo… Appointment? I don't want to go to the doctors though." Alfred whined, wiggling around anxiously, "Papa makes doctors appointments and I don't like it!"

"No! No that's not what I am doing!" Arthur grumbled, trying to keep his grip on the squirming toddler.

"Alfie, what's going on?" A gentler voice mumbled from below, and Arthur glanced down. He opened his mouth to tell Matthew exactly what they were doing, but Alfred beat him to it.

"Run Matthew! Run, for your life! He's trying to take us to the cleaner man! The one with the sharp needles!" Alfred bellowed out, suddenly putting a death hold onto Arthur, "I'll hold him off for you!"

Matthew's eyes opened wide, his little mouthing popping open along with a gust of wind escaping. It would almost be comical on the toddlers face if Arthur weren't panicking so much.

"W-What… but… Only Papa can bring us to those!" Matthew whimpered, taking a deep breath. In the crook of his arm was the button eyed stuffed bear he always carried around, though it looked like it was being choked to death by the grip Matthew had on it.

So far, Arthur wanted to pull his hair out. What a great way to start out the night.

"I'm not taking you to the doctor, I promise." Arthur whispered, venom in his voice. He wanted to scream, and he wanted to yell. Hell, he wanted to run as far away from this house as he could.

The minute that thought came into his head, two little pairs of blue eyes met his green ones, and he let his grip soften on them.

Right, calm.

"Appoint, is different from appointment." Arthur began, a soft smile crossing his face. English was one thing he could discuss, "Appointment means more like a date in some cases, and appoint can mean to show the way. I don't know where the kitchen is in your house."

"Oh." Alfred breathed, looking over at Matthew and nodding. "Its okay Mattie, told you he wouldn't kill us."

Arthur glanced up at the ceiling, imaging the sky behind it; and he silently prayed that this wasn't how the rest of the night was going to go.


End file.
